


Consider It Tied

by Catoukin (Visionairz)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Betaed, Enemies to Lovers, Fights, Love/Hate, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, but more hate, lets be real, so is albert tbh, they hate each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24597703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visionairz/pseuds/Catoukin
Summary: Albert rested his chin in his hand, pursing his lips as he trailed his fork along the tray of food. The loud voices of hundreds of students filled the large room, bouncing off the walls in a jumble of echoes that bled together. It was a regular occurrence for anyone who found themselves sitting in the school cafeteria. Whether it was a regular day or one of the many horrendous events the school put on, it was noisy.Like today.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Albert DaSilva
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Consider It Tied

Albert rested his chin in his hand, pursing his lips as he trailed his fork along the tray of food. The loud voices of hundreds of students filled the large room, bouncing off the walls in a jumble of echoes that bled together. It was a regular occurrence for anyone who found themselves sitting in the school cafeteria. Whether it was a regular day or one of the many horrendous events the school put on, it was _noisy_.

Like today.

One of the events the school liked to put on every month was what they liked to call “Meet and Greet Luncheon” or M.A.G.L. for short. It was new that year. Some special function made to try and get students to be “more social”. 

For the most part, it worked. Pretty well, actually. For the majority of the time, students were lucky and got placed with mutuals and acquaintances. They were able to chat throughout lunch without a care in the world. Usually, Albert was that lucky.

Unfortunately, not this time.

Instead of getting placed with people he knew, Albert was thrown into a table with a bunch of underclassmen. It made him feel awkward. A more athletic and older senior forced to sit with freshmen and sophomores. 

Not an ideal choice, but one Albert could live with.

For the most part.

Today he was stuck with 7 other kids, all smaller in stature and far more “clique-y” than he ever was.

Three of them appeared to be friends, easily babbling on and stealing each other’s food. Two more were prissy girls—probably freshmen—taking selfies and scrolling through what sounded like TikTok. One more was a quiet girl reading a book, slowly flipping the pages as she occasionally pushed her ill-fitting glasses up her nose.

The last person was one of the most annoying people Albert had ever met. He was some crazy sophomore that he vaguely recognized from his business class who had a bit too much fun doing stupid shit.

That kid was adamant about trying to get Albert to talk.

Somewhere in his idiotic brain, the sophomore must’ve thought that since they shared a class, they would be able to talk to each other like friends. Wherever the boy got that idea, Albert didn’t know.

It made him want to rip his hair out.

The noise got to the point Albert couldn’t take it. He had done everything he could to try and show his disinterest. Barely commenting, grumbled responses… _everything_. Nothing he tried seemed to work. So, eventually, he shot the kid a hefty scowl before scrounging through his backpack for earbuds.

The boy fell silent immediately.

He found them in a jumbled mess, shoved into one of the sidepockets. They weren’t too difficult to untangle, but it cost him precious time that could allow the boy to start talking any second.

Albert may not be a huge fan of music, but by God was he thankful to have Spotify.

With the current hits blasting in his ears, he pushed his food along the tray. He had no interest in eating the rice. The stuff tasted nothing like it should, exuding the dreadful taste of wet cardboard. So much as a single bite would make Albert gag. Nothing should ever be that chewy; rice should never taste like a mix of slop and garbage. 

Whatever the school called “rice” was the opposite of edible. Hell, nothing was edible in this place.

He huffed, staring down at the food before him. Time couldn’t go any slower.

He wanted lunch to end. He wanted to be over with the meal so he could get on with passing to the next period and actually say hi to his friends. But, of course, there was a fun little catch to days like this.

They weren’t allowed to get up from their tables unless they were tossing their food. No stopping to talk to friends, no mingling with other students, nothing. They were forced to sit together in weird groups for the entirety of a half an hour where they barely even talked.

Well…

Given the racket of the massive room, that was a false claim. Many students found a way to be social at this time, most getting lucky enough to _have_ friends with them. Usually, Albert was that lucky.

And dear God, he was so close this time.

Just one table over sat one of his best friends: Jorgelino Josephino “JoJo” De La Guerra. He was one of the few friends Albert had during his lunch, all the others being split off into other periods. It was annoying just how close they were despite being so far away. With just a couple switched names, they would’ve been sitting together.

What hurt more was how easy JoJo was able to talk to those placed at his table. Then again, it was a given for a guy who did tennis, golf, _and_ band. The guy had so many friends that it put Albert to shame. Even then, it was a mild surprise.

No one would look at JoJo and say “Yes, he is the popular guy with a bunch of friends.” No, they would make comments about how he dresses; they would talk about how shy and cute he seemed but never about how talkative he truly was. It was a detail that constantly went unnoticed.

To Albert, though, the brunette had one of the most infectious smiles he had ever seen. It was sweet and calm and _welcoming_ , even the smallest quirk in the mouth was so genuine... Albert would never trade it for the world.

It was part of why he refused to let their friendship fade away. After so many years of being arm in arm, it was impossible to see them ever drifting apart. 

So many things Albert did, JoJo was there for. Whenever the group of Albert, JoJo, Race, and Finch would head out to watch a movie, it was JoJo who offered rides and meals. He always took the time out of his day to be nice to the rest of them.

And honestly, Albert felt kind of bad for taking advantage of it.

Not that it really _was_ taking advantage. It was more like a twisted form of reality in his own mind, spiraling through until it wrapped around and dug its claws in. Every time he accepted one of JoJo’s offers, he felt horrible. No person in their right mind would willingly let someone give up their time or money for them.

He could never get out of doubt’s grasp.

Their friendship was what made Albert despise the distance between them. Despite only being ten feet apart, it was too far. He just wanted someone to talk to instead of having to sit and suffer through the playlist he pulled up.

None of the music was his taste but it wasn’t like he could find anything else. He was already trying to get his focus off the annoying sophomore next to him, he didn’t need to deal with the hassle of getting “perfect” music.

It really didn’t help that he didn’t have a proper interest in the stuff.

Everything he normally listened to was from the early 2010s. The typical pop songs one would hear on the radio as their parents drove them to work. It was nice, just not what he was stuck listening to now.

He knew most of the words to a majority of the songs despite never taking a true liking in music. It all stemmed from every morning that he woke up to the radio as a kid. The radio would blast in his ears, blaring with the turn of the clock to 7:00 A.M.

From his dad, too, as he drove Albert and his older brothers to school.

Every inch of his being had been ingrained with it. 

But, now that Albert was able to drive himself, he never really listened to music. It was pointless to him. It was only a twenty minute drive, give or take, which meant he could listen to YouTube videos or part of a podcast.

Maybe that made him sound like a dad.

Which Albert is certainly not.

He’s 17, not a parent.

God, that would be weird.

Imagine teen pregnancy and him.

He couldn’t flirt with girls as it was, he could only imagine if it somehow got that far.

But that’s besides the point. What mattered was how painfully slow the world seemed to be moving now that he was stuck at the table. With a quick glance at his phone screen, he came to the consoling realization that it was five minutes until the bell.

Only five more minutes and he could actually talk to people. Fuck yeah.

Though the world was deceitful. It made careful not to not warn Albert about the people approaching from behind.

Sitting with his back to the main walkway towards the trash cans was nothing short of a curse. He barely paid attention to who came or went. Really, anyone could stand right behind him and he would be completely oblivious. Which, added to the lack of focus around him, was exactly what he was.

If the world had been kind, it would’ve told him to turn around.

But, alas, it didn’t.

The sting of a flick nailed the back of his head. The thwack of the nail rang through his ears, only amplified by the earbuds blocking out the rest of the world. 

Immediately, Albert’s hand shot to the back of his head, pressing against the spot where he;d been hit. At the same time, he spun around, his eyes flicking across the cafeteria to find the culprit.

Everywhere he looked, he was at a loss. So many people were getting up to toss their food now that lunch was almost over that whoever it had been was lost to the crowd.

At least, they were for a moment.

It wasn’t until his eyes locked with a short, stocky senior that he realized why he couldn’t find the guy sooner.

Brown eyes bore into his, a hint of malice glinting beneath the fluorescent lights. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he realized Albert was looking and he gave the ginger a two-fingered salute. He walked backwards a few paces before spinning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

Bright red wasn’t a color Albert would consider to blend in. He found it hideous, always poking through to catch your eye in the heat of the moment. And yet, the familiar red jacket fell out of view.

Sean. Fucking. Conlon.

Or Spot, for that matter.

Albert fumed as the brunette disappeared. Heat rose to his cheeks, spreading along the skin with an infamous shade of crimson that followed him wherever he went. Left and right he was haunted by the color and no matter what he did, it was _everywhere_.

All because of that shit-face Spot.

Albert hated it.

He hated how cocky the bastard was. He hated how much the guy loved to hang his status over Albert’s head like a little toy for a dog. He hated how Spot expected him to chase it.

He hated that Spot was right. That he _would_ chase it.

It had been Albert’s dream since first stepping foot into the game to get the position of quarterback on the high school team. Ever since middle school, he did what he could to push for the spot. Training, practicing… and yet it was all for nothing in the end.

Because Spot was the one who got it.

And boy, did Spot _know_ how much it meant to Albert.

The day they found out who got the position, the shorter boy had gone straight to him. There wasn’t a single pat on the back or consolation. Nothing to try and show Spot was there for a healthy competition or cared about his teammates. No, the boy had rubbed it in his face and shoved it down his throat.

Every single time he came across Spot, the brunette would harass him for it.

_“Hey, Albert, guess what position I got?”  
  
“Hey, DaSilva, what’d you get?”_

_“Ha, look at that bitch. Thought he could beat me at my own game.”_

_“Did you really think you’d ever get the spot? You’re terrible.”_

They were downright degrading.

Never before did Albert think a guy like Spot could possibly look down his nose at someone _taller_ than him. After all, the guy was the shortest on the team. Yet, here they were.

If Albert had anything to say about it all, he’d say it’s pitiful.

But he was having none of it. He had none of it.

_It was the second time Spot had tried to go after Albert that something snapped. It didn’t take long at all for the ginger to go off on a whim._

_All it took was a simple comment._

_“Hey, DaSilva, ready to watch me carry the team?”_

_The sheer attitude in Spot’s voice was enough to get Albert to tense up. His hands were clenched around the shirt he had just taken off, knuckles turning white as he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to stay discrete and keep from reacting._

_The wet slap of skin on skin rang throughout the locker room as a sharp jolt of pain raced up his bare arm._

_Albert lurched forward, eyes shooting open as he gasped. With a quick glance down at his arm, he came across a pale red hand print. The edges of the fingers already began to flare barely seconds after the initial contact._

_The dull buzz of unhappy nerves was all Albert could think about, barely able to process what had just happened. He failed to properly register the words that soon came after._

_“Come on gingie, gimmie an answer!” Spot exclaimed._

_Albert pressed his lips into a flat line, once again closing his eyes. If he could stay calm, nothing bad would happen. They could carry on living and just get to practice without so much as struggle. The last thing he wanted was to start a fight he knew he would lose._

_Spot’s voice breached Albert’s brief attempt at faux serenity. The shorter boy’s hot breath stung his face, washing over him in a way that made him want to gag._

_He could practically feel Spot’s presence only inches away from his body. Standing there, hovering as he tried to assert himself. Albert didn’t need to open his eyes to know they were face-to-face._

_“Don’t ‘cha got somethin’ to say? You know you can’t leave me hanging.”_

_A hard prod to his chest swiftly followed, a disgustingly sticky finger pressing against Albert’s skin. His nose scrunched a bit at the feeling but only for a split second._

_Because it was what sent him over the edge._

_Albert slapped the hand away, eyes now wide and furious. Heat raged in his gaze as he glared down at the shorter man. He watched as Spot’s expression shifted to a sneer, seemingly pleased with where it was going._

_“Oh? Finally being feisty, eh?” Spot narrowed his eyes. “Come on, hit me. You know you wanna.”_

_Oh, he wanted to._

_So he did._

_Albert swung without a moment’s hesitation. Within milliseconds, bone hit bone with a solid_ thud _as his fist connected with the brunette’s jaw. A muted throb radiated up from his hand; the repercussion for such an action._

_He watched as Spot stumbled back, cupping his cheek as he tried to recover. He opened his mouth, stretching it out as if to test the pain. Letting out a grimace, he dropped his hand so he could glare at Albert. Then, he snarled, “You asked for it, DaSilva.”_

_Time slowed down in that moment, as did his reflexes, leaving him to helplessly watch the incoming fist._

_A sickening_ crunch _was all Albert could hear as his head jerked to the side. Hot pain coursed across his senses, blinding him in every way imaginable. With a short lapse of consciousness Albert crumpled against the lockers, hands slamming against them with a metallic_ twang _as he tried to stop himself._

_His vision spun with the world around him. Dark spots washed over his vision, dancing around with swirls of colors and his fuzzy surroundings._

_His face_ ached.

_Hot, sticky liquid oozed from his nose as he wheezed. He managed to choke out a couple swears, colorful language falling from his mouth as his hands shot to his face. The moment he touched his nose, he whimpered._

_Agony raced through him, forcing him to run around so his back was to the lockers. It was the only way he could keep himself up._

_The faint sound of the rest of the team talking reached his ears, but that was it._

_They were muffled, drowned by the ringing in his ears and the buzz of convoluted, wordless thoughts in his head._

_“...pathetic. It’s almost like..”_

_“No… ...what about…”_

_“...watch him cry.”_

_The snippets he managed to make out rang around in his head. Bouncing off the walls of his mind, the jeering voices grew louder. Each part repeated, tumbling one after another until his brain filled in missing pieces._

_They were making him a laughing stock._

_Yet all he could hear, all he could think, was pain._

_He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide from the vertigo that assaulted his senses and force nausea down._

_His breathing was ragged as he hissed. So much as a single touched burned, sending unwanted sparks spiraling away._

_Those sparse touches were what let Albert to the horrifying truth:_

_His nose was shattered._

_It was on that day his seething hatred for Spot Conlon blossomed._

That was why when the bell rang to dismiss lunch, Albert bolted to his feet and rushed to dump his tray.

He was sick and tired of dancing around with Spot and his stupid games. He was sick of how the brunette knew where to poke at him; how he knew what buttons to push and which nerves to slither under.

He was sick of how Spot could play him like a fiddle.

Ever since that incident, Albert was unable to keep from retaliating. Every snarky remark was returned with a retort. Every swing with one of his own. He refused to back down from a fight, not after the one he lost so horribly.

As he returned to the table, he grabbed his back and slung it across his shoulders before taking his earbuds out.. Now that lunch was over, he was free to move on to math.

Even though it was his least favorite subject.

A gentle hand on his shoulder got Albert to look up. What greeted him was the familiar beaming smile of none other than JoJo himself. 

The tension that had wound its way around every muscle in Albert’s body slipped away. 

“You seem pissed,” JoJo commented. He then tilted his head. “You get stuck with a shitty group?”

Albert barked out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just some annoying kid from one of my classes.”  
  
JoJo chuckled along with him. It was a nice sound, one that could calm Albert down no matter the situation. “I’m sorry man. These special lunches are stupid anyway.”

“You could say that again,” Albert muttered, shrugging his friend off.

JoJo hummed in response and the two fell silent.

It wasn’t an awkward silence. Both were distracted; Albert with his phone and JoJo with the students around them. It was a common occurrence and neither really cared. After all, they weren’t headed to the same place.

They parted ways without a single goodbye at one of the intersecting hallways, JoJo turning left and Albert continuing on.

He always hated math. Both as a subject and a class. It always made him feel like an idiot and gave him the worst headache whenever he tried too hard. His inherent need for a calculator only made it worse, being a primary reason he was stuck in a regular level math class rather than honors.

At this rate, honors was the normal class.

His need for a calculator became a crutch. It became unbearable during tests and quizzes, even at home or work. It was part of why he refused to become a cashier if it was the last thing he’d do.

Because he _sucked_ at mental math.

He was the guy who still needed to count on his fingers or mumble the numbers under his breath during a test. He had to count slow and orderly and multiple times over before he could be convinced he had the right answer.

And for the love of _God_ , he _could not_ add numbers like 18 and 19 without having to think for _far_ too long.

But there was another reason he hated math. His current class to be specific.

Being a senior was… interesting to say the least. It left him with so many opportunities to take different classes. Each and every option was unique in some way.

Nearly one hundred classes in the entire course catalog.

And yet _he_ had to be in Albert’s math class.

Albert trudged through the door, nodding to the teacher as she greeted him.

She was a nice woman, always dressing a peaceful mix of bright and conservative. It was rare to see her without a skirt of some sort or her hair tied up into a neat bun on the top of her head. Her glasses seemed to change every week, often switching frames and colors to match her outfits.

Ms. Lane—or Hannah as she preferred to be called—was one of Albert’s favorite teachers. Too bad she had to teach his most hated class.

He was, by far, not the first student in the room. He wasn’t the last either, he rarely was. It just took him forever to walk across the entire building. Not that he cared.

Tugging his bag off, he let it fall to the floor next to his single desk before sliding into his chair. Immediately, his hands were propping his head up and his eyes were half-lidded. A bored expression sat content on his face, portraying a sense of tiredness never seen outside the room.

He did his best to ignore Spot as the guy walked in, avoiding eye contact as he instead focused on the bell ringer. It wasn’t a new problem, but one that made his brain churn to try and process.

It was written out on the whiteboard in sprawling cursive, neat and tidy like one would expect of a teacher.

His slur of unintelligible and tired thoughts were silenced by Hannah when she finally addressed the class. He perked up a bit, only enough to acknowledge he was listening.

“I know I’m starting a bit early, but it’s going to be important for the lesson these next few days,” she began, crossing the front of the room. “Because we all know you hate taking my tests, I’ve come up with a better idea. Instead-” the bell rang. She paused for a moment, letting the shrill sound pass before continuing. “So, instead of taking mine, you’re going to make your _own_ for this chapter!”

The class groaned.

“Ah ah!” She smiled at them all before pointing at them, sweeping the gesture across the entire room. “I know you hate working alone, which is why I’m giving you groups.”

Somehow, that only made the class worse. A couple of Albert’s classmates murmured to each other while others gave overdramatic sighs. Nobody was happy, but at least they weren’t working alone.

Hannah moved to the projector in the middle of the room, tapping the desk it sat on with her nails. The clicking was the only sound in the room for a couple seconds before she grabbed the bright pink cup just to the side. The rattle of wooden sticks was a dead giveaway for what lay inside.

“You’re gonna be in pairs. That way the work can be split evenly without a worry.” 

Albert was far from thrilled. He didn’t have any friends in the class.

She began to go through names, randomly pulling out sticks and calling the students. Some pairs were excited, others were neutral. It was a game of chance that benefited very few.

He tuned her voice out. There was no way he was going to pay attention unless his name was called. He had no interest in what was going on.

“Albert and Sean.”

Albert choked on absolutely nothing, stuttering forward a bit at the sound of their names together.

Fuck.

This was gonna be hell.

**Author's Note:**

> that,, was a decently long first chapter huh
> 
> it was worth the time!
> 
> if you want more, my tumblr is @alberts-hat <3
> 
> kudos are always appreciated!


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